


Insults

by musicofthespheres



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: 3 year gap, Canon Compliant, F/M, GoChi (secondary ship), Three Year Gap, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-20 12:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14261268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicofthespheres/pseuds/musicofthespheres
Summary: Or, "Vegeta learns from Goku and Chichi that strength doesn’t always come in the form of power, and that Saiyans really do like strong women."





	Insults

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the lovely [LadyCressa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ladycressa) for beta-reading as always, and for laughing at my attempts at humour.

Vegeta watched Kakarot and his wife, the earthling Chichi, from afar. It didn’t make any sense. While she was a strong-willed woman, she also displayed signs of mental weakness that, to Vegeta, made it seem like Goku had settled. 

His musings were interrupted when the lady of the house, Mrs. Briefs, approached him with a tray of drinks and offered a choice of tea, beer, and lemonade. He declined all three with a dismissive wave of his hand, and when he turned his attention back to his fellow Saiyan (low classed as he was) to further his observations, he was startled to find that the blue-haired demon had appeared seemingly out of thin air. 

She had her hand on Chichi’s shoulder and the two women laughed at something that Kakarot had apparently said. 

Vegeta grimaced. The way these earthlings so casually touched each other — and with such camaraderie — disgusted him. 

The demon caught him staring and waved him over. 

Vegeta pretended not to see and gained a sudden, studious interest in the cobble tile that made up the patio.

xxx

“Weak?” Bulma laughed. “I mean, she’s no Saiyan, but she is an accomplished martial artist.”

“She’s a human who apparently dared to think she could tame a Saiyan male — that she could _domesticate_ him. It borders on disgusting.” 

“You forget that we didn’t know Goku was an alien until you lot showed up.” 

“It’s in his blood. It’s just a pity that she defaulted to housewife status the moment they were wed.” 

“You weren’t even here at the time,” Bulma pointed out. “And they’re happy the way they are. Who gave you the right to judge?” 

“I am the prince of all Saiyans,” Vegeta groused. “And I can just tell.” 

Chichi might be substandard in terms of Saiyan mates, but Bulma was on a level even below that. With her scrawny arms and tiny, fragile frame, Vegeta was certain she’d get blown away by a strong breeze before taking a hit in a fight. 

“Have you stopped and considered for a single moment that Chichi runs that household, keeps Goku in line, and is raising a half-Saiyan child while she herself is a ‘mere’ human? I’d like to see you do the same if you were in her position. Not that you could handle it.” Bulma grinned maliciously at the anger the flashed in Vegeta’s eyes. 

“How _dare_ you speak to me in this manner! So… uncouth. I am a _Prince,_ woman, and you will treat me as such.” 

“Sure thing, your royal highness, right after you pay for the backlog of repairs to your precious gravity room as well as for your meals -- you Saiyans eat a lot, you know -- and your rent. Even Earth royalty knows you don’t get everything for free.”

xxx

“I’m rich and powerful and men throw themselves at me,” Bulma sobbed, shoulders heaving. “And it’s my birthday. So _why_ , today of all days, do I have to have this enormous, ugly _thing_ on my forehead!” Her voice reverberated down the hallway, bouncing off the tile flooring.

Vegeta happened to be passing by at that very moment and saw Bulma’s mother comforting her forlorn daughter by the mirror.  
_Tch. Such frivolous concerns,_ he couldn’t help but think. For somebody who had such apparent mechanical brilliance, the woman sure was vain. The party tonight was enough indication of that. Vegeta had never seen such extravagance to the excess for someone who was not in the royal family. Even his father, the King of all Saiyans, would have been hard-pressed to go so over the top as Ms. Briefs had done for a mere birthday. 

And there she sat, wailing about some little blemish on her skin. 

“I think it’s an improvement,” Vegeta said as Panchy left to attend to the first guests as they arrived. “Adds something interesting to your bland face.” 

Bulma’s sobbing abruptly stopped. 

Vegeta could see her face in the mirror, though it was partly in shadow. She stared back at him through the reflection, eyes narrowed dangerously. 

The ensuing shouting match had to be broken up by an overly-flustered Panchy who returned with such haste that Vegeta wondered if she had somehow learned Kakarot’s instant transmission trick. 

“Excuse us,” Vegeta could hear Panchy saying to the startled guests as she returned to the foyer. “We have a member of foreign nobility staying with us to whom I must attend.” 

Vegeta heard murmurs of understanding from the guests and tilted his head to the side. How did _that_ explain away what had just happened? Humans were so confusing. 

Bulma emerged not two minutes later, the blemish expertly covered over by extra layers of the strange goop she put on her face every morning.. She clearly wasn’t expecting Vegeta to be in the hallway still and came to an abrupt stop, giving him a sniff of contempt and a haughty once-over before continuing on her way to the grand staircase. 

Vegeta couldn’t help but watch as she went, the tight red dress shimmering in the light of the chandelier that hung from the high-arched ceiling. And when he returned to his room, he found what he assumed to be formal attire for earth males laying on his bed.

xxx

Vegeta approached the woman of honour with a glass of champagne in his hand. One thing he had enjoyed about his time on this backwater planet -- and he’d _never_ admit this out loud -- was that they had a wide variety of ways to get absolutely falling-down drunk, and most of them tasted _delicious_. Again, not that he’d admit that. Ever.

“Well _look at you_ ,” Bulma greeted him, subconsciously taking on a defensive stance and preparing for a verbal spar. 

Vegeta smirked. It was cute how she thought she was his equal. 

“I didn’t think it was possible, but you actually look handsome,” Bulma continued. “I see my impeccable taste has raised you to a solid six-point-five.” 

“A what?” Vegeta asked. 

“Out of ten. You know, on a hotness scale?” Bulma grinned maliciously. “A well-fitted tux always adds at least 3 or 4 points in my book.” 

Vegeta lifted an eyebrow at the jab. “Hm,” he said nonchalantly. “Well, it’s a shame your expensive gown doesn’t even give you enough of a boost to register on the scale.” 

Impressively, Bulma managed to keep her cool exterior intact. Her pale skin betrayed her, however, when her face turned a delightfully angry shade of red. “Must be a false reading,” she shot back. “I’m so hot I’m clearly right off the charts.” 

Vegeta merely raised an eyebrow in response and walked on past her toward the balcony.

xxx

“More champagne, Prince Vegeta?” a waiter in a bowtie asked, holding out a tray of crystalline flutes.

Vegeta looked down at the glass in his hand, still a quarter full. He shrugged and took a second off the tray. A breeze rustled through the trees and whispered against his face. Placing both glasses down on the railing, he loosened the top buttons of his shirt and relished the cool air that rushed in. It had been getting a little hot in there. 

He turned his back to the sky and watched the partygoers with detached interest. Kakarot and his woman were here -- another reason to stay out here, to avoid their company. Vegeta couldn’t help but sniff with amusement at the other Saiyan being scolded by his wife for attacking the buffet with such gusto that he nearly demolished half of the trays in no more than five minutes. 

But the Briefs woman didn’t seem to care, and only ordered her staff to bring out even more trays full of delicacies while patting Chichi on the back. Then both women looked up at Vegeta and then at each other, giggling and whispering.

Chichi found her way back to Kakarot and looped her arm through his and Bulma made a beeline for the balcony, only to discover that Vegeta was nowhere to be found. 

He listened carefully from below, just out of sight, as she called into the air for him. Hovering against the stone and taking care not to make a sound, he let out a breath of relief when he heard her footsteps retreating back inside.

xxx

Vegeta usually took a great deal of pleasure in watching Yamcha getting torn a new one. Unfortunately for him, it was Bulma who usually did the tearing. Vegeta couldn’t figure out why, as of late, watching her lord it over the pathetic human made him extremely uncomfortable.

On this particular day, Kakarot and his brat were taking a break from training and sat at the poolside along with Krillin, Puar, Oolong, and some others that Vegeta couldn’t remember the names of. Nor did he care to. 

“Poor Yamcha,” Kakarot chuckled. “Bulma always has been a firecracker.” 

“Ah, he likes it,” Oolong said, sipping on a colorful drink that had an umbrella in it. “Look, his face is all red.” 

Vegeta shrank back into the his chair, holding up the tablet containing an ebook called “The Art of War” in front of his face and hoping to hide the fact that his countenance matched Yamcha’s. 

“Well,” he said, in a move that drew attention toward him rather than away, “She doesn’t seem to respect anyone, even if their station demands it.” 

“Aw, was she mean to you again?” Krillin teased. 

“Her spiteful tongue paired with her tiny power level would’ve gotten her killed in a heartbeat on Vegeta-sei,” Vegeta replied. “She should show herself lucky I haven’t obliterated this unfortunate planet and you weaklings with it.” 

Kakarot had the audacity to laugh. “You clearly haven’t gotten to know her very well!” 

Vegeta was thankful that the shade of the umbrella hid his regrettable blush. He hadn’t in his waking hours, but the crude dreams that plagued him at night might lead the others to believe otherwise.

xxx

Vegeta threw himself into his training with renewed enthusiasm. The she-devil threatened his willpower in ways he’d never had to deal with when it was just him and the other Saiyans, destroying worlds and scheming against Frieza in their spare time. Their predilections had never affected him.

He could hear Raditz’s snide laughter in the back of his head as he focused on things that fuelled his rage, like the destruction of Vegeta-sei, the betrayal, being stuck on this backwater planet, the way she was his equal in every way except power and title, and, fuck. 

So then he doubled down and thought of how he was going to surpass third-class trash Kakarot and find a form beyond Super Saiyan, if only he could reach that step first. 

_Creak._

He’d conquer the future threat to this measly little world and take it for himself. 

_Groan._ The gravity room was taking a beating as his power level expanded past its limits. 

He’d fulfill his original purpose for coming here. 

_Crack._

Vegeta felt the first surge of power flowing through his vein, falsely believing that he’d done it, he’d become the legendary--

The world went white, and he woke up in a hospital bed with the infernal woman asleep in a chair next to him.

xxx

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Bulma said quietly, standing to place her bowl in the dishwasher and turning to walk out of the room without another word.

And Vegeta stood there, ready for another bout of insults but was instead left with the distinct feeling that, for the first time in his life, he’d done something wrong. 

But she’d called him cute. 

So he followed her out. 

“Bulma,” he said, her name sounding strange on his tongue after so long calling her by anything but. 

“No, Vegeta,” she said and continued toward her room. Her shoulders drooped with an uncharacteristic melancholy. “Not right now.” 

The words of apology were on the tip of Vegeta’s tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to say them. 

“Bulma.” It was a statement this time, not a question. He continued to follow her but hung back, sensing that she really did need the space. 

Once she reached her bedroom, she paused in the doorway and turned to look at him. Her eyes welled with tears that she stubbornly held back, lest he make another jab about _weakness_ , no doubt. 

Vegeta recognized the emotional turmoil on her face. He’d seen this woman stand up to colleagues and national leaders alike with a fierceness that was nothing short of awe-inspiring. She had only one emotional weakness that he had been able to detect in his short stay on earth. 

“What did he do?” Vegeta snarled, feeling a peculiar surge of instinctive protectiveness that almost had him reeling. He squashed that right back down where it came from. 

Bulma shook her head, refusing the question. “He did nothing. I ended it. For good this time.” The last part was hard to hear, like she’d added it as an afterthought, reaffirming to herself that she’d made a good decision. 

“Why?” It was a demand, not a question. Vegeta berated himself for having any investment in the wellbeing of his hostess, emotional or otherwise, but he’d apparently grown soft enough that the enquiry slipped out unbidden. 

“Why do you deserve to know?” Bulma spat. “And why do you care?” 

Vegeta backed down. She was right. “Fine. As long as it doesn’t impede your repairing the gravity room, your feelings are of no consequence to me.” So he was a fool _and_ a liar.

xxx

Vegeta limped into the kitchen and opened the fridge. It was his own stupid fault he’d gotten hurt.

The woman had programmed the training bots, at his behest, to be ten times stronger than their last iteration. And they were smarter, too. Bulma’s cunning had shown itself in the way they dodged his blows and teamed up to take him down. 

Vegeta had to admit she’d make a brilliant battle strategist. He ignored the pain and pulled out a cooked ham, tearing into it like he’d never eaten food in his life. It was then that he noticed he wasn’t alone. 

Bulma looked up from the island in the center of the kitchen, a pen tucked behind her ear. 

They stared at each other for a long moment, each daring the other to break the silence first. 

Vegeta took the bait. “Woman,” he acknowledged, trying his best to keep the residual awe and respect out of his voice at the way she’d managed to injure him -- indirectly, of course. 

Bulma merely raised an eyebrow in response and went back to reading her tablet. 

It had been two weeks since they’d last spoken face to face like this. Their recent communications had been via the two-way camera in the GR or through Bulma’s various assistants. 

Two could play this game. Vegeta sat down with the ham and ripped a piece off with his teeth. He watched her as she deliberately ignored him, intent on breaking her facade. Toward the end of his meal, he got the inkling that she wasn’t going to budge.

But then she looked up at him, a tiny frown adorning her otherwise expressionless face, and hummed thoughtfully. 

“What?” he said. 

“Shall I dial the bots back a few notches?” 

“Not on your life.” 

“Better get good, then,” Bulma teased, cracking the first smile Vegeta had seen on her face since she told him about leaving Yamcha. 

Speaking of whom…

“Still better than your pathetic ex-boyfriend,” he said with a sadistic grin. He’d been itching to throw insults at her again lately. Getting her riled up definitely fell among the top five in his list of favorite pastimes. 

“It’s okay, I know humans are too complex for your tiny inbred brain to understand,” Bulma flung back. 

Excellent. She was back in fighting form. 

“I’m not inbred,” Vegeta said. “I’m genetically superior than any other Saiyan, in fact. Built for strength, smarts, _and_ looks. Too bad you can’t say the same.” 

“At least my entire sense of self isn’t built around pride in being highborn,” Bulma laughed. “I’m beautiful, smart, _and_ accomplished. What have you done? Destroyed some planets? Freeloaded off the generosity of your human hosts who have the decency to give you a place to stay and train?” 

“What, woman, can’t handle my presence?” Vegeta said, his grin growing even wider. “I bet that’s why you dumped that loser, isn’t it? You finally realized that he could never compare to me.” He was just revelling in needling her, now, but-

He wasn’t too caught up in himself to miss the microexpression that fluttered across Bulma’s face before returning to the smirk she’d worn before. 

“You wish you were half the man that Yamcha is,” Bulma replied. “Such a shame your head is so far up your own ass that you’ll never realize that.”

xxx

Vegeta never got much sleep at night. Three to five hours, and he was back in the gravity room. But that night, he got no sleep whatsoever, playing back the conversation over and over in his head.

She had left her mate because of _him_. The boost that gave to his ego was far greater than he expected, but with it came the very conflicting emotions for which he’d looked down on her. The basest, most primitive part of his brain screamed at him to give her what she wanted. 

Never one to deny himself, Vegeta rose and strode toward her room. 

“Woman,” he stated upon knocking at her door. “Let me in.” 

The door opened a crack only moments later and Bulma popped her head out. “I’m not fixing the GR at this time of night, Vegeta. Go to sleep.” 

“Wait-” Vegeta said, his hand shooting out to stop the door from closing. “That’s not why I’m here.” 

Bulma hesitated and then let the door fall open wider, revealing her silk robe-clad figure. She wore nothing underneath. 

Vegeta momentarily forgot what he was saying until his brain caught up with his mouth. This was no time to overthink. “You want me,” he stated simply, subconsciously puffing out his chest and standing as straight and tall as his stature allowed. “And I am in need of a diversion tonight.” 

The door slammed shut.

xxx

“Can you _believe_ the audacity?” Bulma shout-whispered into the phone, which was on speaker mode. She lay on her bed, feet kicked up behind her.

Her balcony doors were open, allowing the summer breeze to whip the long cloth curtains every which way. 

“Who just shows up at your door and expects to get laid because it’s convenient for them? What an insufferable jerk. I’ve just about had it up to my eyeballs with his attitude.” 

Vegeta, who just _happened_ to be “meditating” on the lawn below the balcony, tilted his head and smirked. 

Bulma was on the phone with Kakarot’s wife. 

“Bulma,” Chichi replied, exasperated. “I hope you’re not considering sleeping with the man who came here to destroy earth and steal our dragon balls.” 

“He hasn’t destroyed it yet and he’s been here for seven months already,” Bulma pointed out.

“ _Bulma,_ he’s a delinquent!” Chichi sighed. “These Saiyans all sound the same. You act a little strong-headed around them and all of a sudden they want you in bed for three days straight.” 

Well, shit. Turned out Chichi was a lot smarter than she let on. Vegeta decided suddenly that he had to go train somewhere else.

xxx

For the second night in a row, Vegeta couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, but the woman’s voice crowded his thoughts. He thought perhaps the bracing air of night time would clear his head, so he got up and pulled on his sweatpants.

And found himself underneath her balcony again. Her door was open. Just a little peek…

His breath hitched in his throat when he spied her awake and at her desk. She was hunched over, furiously scribbling across an enormous pad of paper. She wore the same nightgown as before, but her hair was pulled back from her face with a bright red headband. 

She looked up, but he was already out of sight.

xxx

Vegeta couldn’t tell if his pent-up frustration was helping or hindering his training exercises. Every night he flew to her balcony, and every night she almost saw him.

He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to realize that she knew he was there. Of course she did. It only clicked when he came to her balcony and was startled to find her sitting out there after a dinner party, still in her gown, with a second glass of wine sitting beside her own. She stared straight at him. 

“Been wondering if you’d show up tonight,” she said and tilted her head toward the empty seat across from her. 

Vegeta remained where he was and crossed his arms. “Why haven’t you said anything?” 

Bulma shrugged. “I wasn’t ready to. Now come have a glass of wine. It’s a shame you didn’t join us tonight.” 

“I have no need to mingle with earth dignitaries. And the formal wear is unnecessarily stifling.” 

“I suppose that’s fair.” Bulma smiled at him, holding out the glass. “Come on. It’s just us now. Everyone else has gone home.” 

Vegeta acquiesced. 

The wine was sweeter than he’d been expecting. He discovered it was a rosé, not that the term meant anything to him, and that it was a dessert wine. 

They stared at the sky, at the few stars that blinked their way through the city’s light pollution and sat in silence for a long time. Then Bulma spoke. 

“About the other day-” 

“I do not wish to speak of it,” Vegeta said. Better he stop that conversation now before he let on that his ego had been more than a little damaged by the not-so-subtle rejection of a slammed door in his face. 

“I see,” Bulma said, then stood and went back inside. 

Long minutes passed and Vegeta thought that it was time to leave when she stepped back out wearing the same robe as before. Its white silk gleamed in the light from her bedroom, accentuating her slim figure. 

“Let’s not speak, then,” she said, taking his hand. 

In his dumbfounded state, he couldn’t help but follow her inside. 

In short order, Bulma divested Vegeta of his armor and the outer layer of his clothing. Now, all that remained were his undershirt and boxers, the latter of which did a poor job in hiding how affected Vegeta was by all of this. 

“Don’t- _ah_ ,” Vegeta groaned as Bulma slipped her clever hands down the front of his boxers. “Don’t think that this means anything.” 

Bulma smirked, wrapping her fingers around his swollen length. “Keep your mouth shut, Prince. I’m in charge here.” 

Vegeta knew she was trying to provoke him, but he rose to the challenge anyway. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you,” he said, grabbing her wrist and swiftly flipping her onto her back. His strength overrode any notions she had of commanding him. 

But she was not one to be so easily daunted. The fire in her eyes ignited his core; she wriggled free from his half-hearted grip to grab at his member again, redoubling her efforts when he resisted her attempt. 

“Listen, woman,” he began, before she interrupted him. 

“My bedroom, my terms,” Bulma commanded. 

Vegeta paused, raised his eyebrows, and then chuckled. “So be it,” he said, scooping her up and taking her right back outside. He laughed when she shrieked at the sheer height, and also for the fact that she was entirely exposed to anyone who might happen to be looking outside. 

Bulma held onto him for dear life and, upon being set down in a neutral location, berated him for risking being seen. She had no way of knowing that it was her ire that attracted him to her. 

Vegeta tore away the remainder of her meager clothing and admired the way she glared at him. 

“I thought you of all people would understand the need for privacy,” Bulma spat, but found she couldn’t say anything further when her wrists were pinned above her head and her mouth was occupied by the approximation of a kiss. 

Vegeta bit at her lip until it was swollen, and even when he had moved on to bite at her neck, he was pleased to discover that he’d been able to effectively shut her up. When she finally seemed to relinquish control to him, however briefly, he thought of how ironic it was that he had no clue what he was doing while she assumed he took control from experience. 

In reality, Vegeta had never had the desire for this type of union with another. Something about her Saiyan-like will had brought him under her spell, but he decided he wouldn’t complain -- especially when he met the companion of her clever hands when its warm heat enveloped his manhood. 

Eventually they fell to the ground together in a tangled mass of limbs; he wasn’t sure where she began and he ended. A peculiar feeling built deep in his belly as she undulated against him. Skin slid against skin, purging all semblance of decorum from his mind as he drove into her. The exquisite pressure reached its height and he sensed something was about to occur.

The woman sensed it too. She looked him in the eyes and ground against him, edging him over a precipice he hadn’t known existed until now and following him over with her own pleasure reaching its climax.

xxx

Vegeta couldn’t look her in the eye. He understood that he’d given her something: but whether it was intimacy, promise, or something else, he couldn’t be sure. Shame overtook him when she walked into the kitchen in scant clothing and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He knew he was better than this, but she’d done something to his self-control. 

“Who thought that the prudish prince wouldn’t even talk to me the morning after,” the woman taunted as she met him yet again in the kitchen late at night. “Is it because his highness lowered himself to someone below his station? How scandalous.” 

Vegeta slowly ate the steak on his plate, methodically slicing bite-sized pieces and putting them into his mouth as deliberately as possible. “You antagonize me woman, but you forget that it is I who made the first overtures.” 

“Must not’ve been in your right mind,” Bulma says around a bite of her own breakfast. “But I thought it was fun.” She downed the last of her milk and patted Vegeta on the shoulder on her way out.

“Vulgar woman,” Vegeta muttered. “Can’t even speak without food in her mouth.”

xxx

It became a game for them. See how long they could last before one of them gave in and made the first move.

To Vegeta’s pleasure (literally), it was Bulma who capitulated the first time, when she pinned him in the hallway late at night a week later. She’d gotten on her knees -- a position most becoming for anyone who had the privilege to be in the presence of royalty, really -- and pulled down his sweatpants down to his ankles.

He eventually realized that was a very calculated move when she made no such propositions in the following days turned weeks, and his training regimen suffered for it. He knew he had to do something when her face appeared on the monitor in the GR and his cock sprung to life, just like that. 

He knew Bulma was not the least surprised when he shut off the monitor in his haste and powered down the room shortly afterward. And she certainly wasn’t surprised when she heard a knock at her bedroom door mere minutes later. 

“Can I help you?” she asked, pulling her bedroom door open, a pen tucked behind her ear and a bundle of papers in her hand. The nonchalance in her tone proved to be a thin veil for her own desires, and Vegeta pushed his way inside and kicked the door shut behind him on his way to her bed, dragging her along with him. Her writing implements were left forgotten somewhere on the floor.

xxx

Their verbal battles became a fight for dominance in the bedroom. Bulma quickly abandoned her “my bedroom, my rules” philosophy and discovered that she enjoyed being roughly thrown about and bossed around as much as she relished doing the same in return.

The power dynamic took on a certain flexible quality, ebbing and flowing like a tide and bouncing back and forth between them. On the days that Vegeta found himself particularly frustrated by his lack of progress, Bulma allowed him the dominance he craved, no, _deserved_. 

Well. _Allow_ was a strong word, for she fought back every second of it, having figured out ages ago that her fiery temper added a certain _flair_ to their intimate interactions. 

Their rendezvous continued on as long as Vegeta saw fit in order to alleviate some of the built-up tension that inhibited his training sessions. He allowed her to think she had a say in matters, when in reality he took what he wanted and was nonplussed to learn their desires matched up with each other.

xxx

“Impossible,” Vegeta said. He gaped at her, too shocked by the revelation that this… this… _human_ was to bear his firstborn to keep up his usual pretense of emotional distance.

Bulma lifted an eyebrow, staring back at him stone-faced. “I think that Gohan’s existence proves that this sort of thing is very much _possible_.” 

“Tch,” Vegeta said, looking away and grimacing and doing everything in his power not to let the strange emotions bubbling deep within him make themselves known. Pride? Accomplishment? Trepidation? Whatever they were, they formed a heavy knot in his stomach that weighed him down and pinned him to this planet for the foreseeable future. 

“I know the timing isn’t the best,” she continued conversationally, sipping a cup of herbal tea. “But it is what it is. I just want to know if you plan on sticking around after the battle with the androids or if you’re going to take off.” 

“You think me so dishonorable?” Vegeta growled. “I will train the boy. No offspring of mine will be left to the machinations of some weak human.” 

Bulma rolled her eyes as if to say, _what, this again?_ “We’ve been over this, Vegeta. You know I’m no ordinary human.” Her flirtation was punctuated by her toe running up Vegeta’s leg, which nearly caused him to spit out the mouthful of water he’d just drunk.

xxx

The worst part of this whole situation was that time showed no signs of slowing down, and Vegeta still had yet to even get a glimpse of the power that came with the legendary transformation.

He watched Kakarot and his brat train together, the former learning to stay in his form for longer and longer periods of time, and the latter showing more promise than he had in that first battle against Nappa those moons ago. 

Bulma spoke with Chichi, laughing as though she had not a care in the world or a half-Saiyan in her womb. 

The future weighed even more heavily on Vegeta now. For the first time in his life, his motivations weren’t entirely selfish. Before, he knew he had to prove himself worthy of his title and exceed Kakarot’s ability. Then, as he grew begrudgingly more fond of this stupid backwater planet, he’d felt the need to preserve his own home. And now, the unmistakable gut instinct of protectiveness began to crowd out all of the other impulses that warred within him. 

He had to do something about that.

xxx

As the spaceship achieved liftoff, Vegeta knew it was too late to have second thoughts. The thrusters pushed him higher and higher into the atmosphere, and eventually he broke free. If his calculations were correct, there was a planet within range of here which would provide the perfect training grounds.

He’d lost his focus, and he had to get it back. The barren landscape and hellacious, frequent meteor showers would see to that. 

His stomach growled and his thoughts fought against him, first of the woman and then of her, no, _their_ son, but he pushed all of that aside. All of this training would be for nothing if he didn’t achieve the goal he’d set out to accomplish. 

Somewhere out in the universe, the lonely Saiyan valiantly fought against space rocks and his own demons until he was graced with the clarity that all he had come to hold dear would be lost if he didn’t break through the barrier and become the legendary.

xxx

The child was strong and bore his likeness, even if his hair was a ridiculous shade of purple inherited from the odd colour of his mother’s hair. She gave him a ridiculous name, too, but argued on the basis that it was a family name and surely Vegeta understood the importance of _that_.

The little brat had inherited his mother’s attitude as well, much to Vegeta’s dismay. Bulma did remind him that they were both stubborn, but Vegeta’s stubbornness arose from his determination to succeed no matter what, and Bulma’s rose from the constant need to have things her way. 

But he was a welcome distraction from the fact that Vegeta would have to wait until the afterlife to have his rematch with Kakarot, a fact he found both annoying and distasteful. He felt he’d been robbed of the reason he’d trained so hard in the first place. 

Little Trunks screamed whenever Vegeta picked him up or attempted to train him (despite his mother’s protests that he was a baby, and that babies shouldn’t be trained, which was nonsense), or whenever he was not allowed to enter a certain area of the house. It exasperated Vegeta to know that the brat possessed such a strong Saiyan will and yet he chose to use it in such a manner. 

If someone had told Vegeta even a year ago that he would become a family man with thoughts of his future on earth and of asking a non-Saiyan to be his wife, he’d have scoffed and blasted their asses to kingdom come for daring to suggest such a thing. But now, even though they bickered and fought and flung insults back and forth as they had always done, Vegeta couldn’t help but see Bulma in a new light. 

She remained untamed, yet there was a certain maternal instinct to her that Vegeta had never thought possible. Instead of tempering her personality, it merely added to it, and it was then Vegeta knew that Bulma had the heart of a Saiyan.

And following that, Vegeta found himself (in earth tradition, which he’d bothered to learn only for her sake) down on one knee, swallowing his pride and asking the one person for whom he’d spared the planet if she would be his wife.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


End file.
